What Was Lost
by onekisstotakewithmex
Summary: It was just a routine case, until it ended up with them stranded with a broken-down plane on a mysterious island. What was initially a joint case with the DoD turns the world of McGee and Delilah upside down yet again. Mild crossover with Lost, no prior knowledge of the show needed, McLilah/McDee, set at the beginning of s14. Updates Weds/Fri
1. Chapter 1

The sky was a beautiful blue, reflecting on the ocean waves that crashed on the sandy shore of the island. The fronds of the palm trees were swaying in the breeze coming off the sea, providing a contrasting image to the rusting ruins strewn across the beach. It was an old scar on an otherwise beautiful island, but the beaches were deserted, the only sound the rustling of the greenery and the crashing of waves upon the shore.

Further inland, was the very picture of suburbia. Freshly-painted yellow bungalows, and a swing set that had not been played on in many years, creaking slightly as the wind rushed through the commons. Flowers were waving, hit with that same fresh sea breeze that carried with it the scent of a Sunday morning in paradise. Though there were few of them, most of the occupants had their windows open to experience the morning, and along with the salty tang of the air, there was another scent; someone was cooking breakfast.

It was a Sunday, and though very few people left on the island observed religion of any kind, it was still seen as a day of rest and reflection; a time for peaceful contemplation or to go visit the graves of loved ones. Such was the reality for one island resident, preparing a breakfast before he made his trek. Freshly picked flowers were sitting on his table, and he was whistling along to opera music playing on the stereo.

Until the stillness of the morning was shattered by a cacophony of noise. The man, though he hadn't heard such horrible noises in years, understood at once what was going on, and, forgetting his breakfast, ran outside to stare open-mouthed at the sky. The peace of morning had been wrenched apart by the screech of metal and the unearthly whine of a failing engine. He knew next to nothing about planes, but knew without a doubt that without a good pilot, this plane would be crashing. And then he watched as the plane righted itself.

He could only hope the pilot had spotted the runway on the adjacent island, and was making a landing. Visitors to the island were few and far between, and the runway had allegedly been built "for aliens" but judging by the panicky spiral of the plane, leaving a trail of smoke to stain the blue sky, these weren't willing visitors. He could only guess how terrified the passengers were.

As the plane disappeared from sight, he realized he'd been standing there for a few minutes, gaping at the sky. This was serious. "Dude, not again!" he groaned, before hurrying as fast as he could considering his significant girth, to hammer a fist against his next door neighbor's house. "Ben!" he yelled.

The door opened, to reveal a very cross, short man, with bulging eyes and whose hair standing on end made him resemble a pissed-off Tweety Bird. "Hugo, what are you bellowing about at such an ungodly hour?" he asked, irritably, arms crossed. "You know better than-."

"It's happening again."

"What is?"

"You didn't hear that crazy noise a minute ago?"

"The first noise I heard today was you banging on my door!" Ben shook his head. "What's going on?"

"A plane."

"A plane?" Ben asked, rapidly putting the pieces together. "You mean another…?"

"Yeah, dude, another one."

"Hugo, what have I told you about calling me _dude_?"

"Sorry, du- Ben. Sir."

He sighed. "You don't have to _sir_ me. Did you see any markings on the plane? Like an airline name?"

"No, Ben, I was focusing on the fact that it was crashing!"

Ben stuck his head out of the door, and craned his neck to get a glimpse of the sky. His eyebrows went up, almost disappearing into his hairline when he saw the trail of smoke. He turned his eyes back to Hugo, and shook his head. "Marvellous. One more thing to deal with."

"Wanna come eat breakfast with me?"

"Hugo, I was hoping to go back to bed," he said, shooting him a pointed look, but under the puppy dog eyes of his boss, he simply rolled his eyes. "I suppose, but I would rather be dressed."

By now, the acrid scent of disaster was filling the air, and even the breeze fresh off the ocean wasn't dispelling it. And then the smell of burned food wafted out of the window next door, and Hugo cried out in alarm. "My breakfast!"

Watching him, Ben simply shook his head again. From his front window, he could see that people were starting to assemble in the commons, all staring at the smoke trail smudging the perfect sky like a wine-stained dress.

"Dudes," Hugo called, walking out into the commons. "I'm sending out scouts after breakfast to figure out what's goin' on. If anyone needs anything, I'll be in my house. And if anyone wants to join Ben and I for breakfast, I've got plenty of food!"

Ben smiled to himself, watching their man in charge, taking charge in the way he knew how; offering food and companionship. He was a better leader by far, and Ben was lucky, disgraced as he was, to get a position as second in command. He was puzzling over the matter of the plane, but withdrew from the window to dress himself. Speculation could wait until he had a plate of food in front of him and Hugo's undivided attention.

 **XNCISX**

"What do you think caused it?"

"Could be the electromagnet thingy."

"Electromagnetic energy," Ben said patiently.

"Should I be calling Desmond or something?" Hugo asked, impatiently. "I don't understand the science behind it, dude, that wasn't my job."

"I know, but-,"

"Hurley! Hurley!"

Hugo – also known as Hurley – was on his feet with surprising speed, and Ben followed him to the front door, only to see one of their friends rushing across the commons, a woman in his arms.

"Has the whole world gone mad?" Ben muttered to himself, following Hurley as they ran to meet him.

"Hurley! There's a plane-,"

"Yes Walt, we know, but who is this?" Ben asked, impatiently.

"I don't know."

"Well, where did you find her?"

"The bamboo grove," Walt said, looking between Ben and Hurley. "I was fishing in the lagoon, to get something for lunch-,"

"Mmm a fish fry…" Hurley said thoughtfully.

"Hugo…" Ben warned, nodding towards Walt, who continued.

"And I saw the plane so I was running back to tell you guys, but I found her passed out in the bamboo grove, so I brought her here."

"Well, bring her inside," Ben urged. "Was there anything nearby?"

"No, nothing. The grove was completely empty except for her," Walt insisted.

"She must be heavy," Hurley commented.

Walt said nothing, but simply followed Ben through the open doorway, and laid the young woman on the couch.

"Do we know anything about her at all?" Ben asked.

"Well, I'm guessing she's not an Other. She's probably from the plane. I didn't exactly look for an ID, Ben."

"Okay." Hurley sighed, looking between the woman on the couch, and his two seconds-in-command. "Walt, can you go over to Hydra Island and see if the rest of the passengers survived?"

"Sure, Hurley."

"Take some supplies with you, food, water, and then see what can be done about bringing them back here, or putting them up in the Hydra building," Hurley instructed. "Ben, you're going to stay here with her, while I call a meeting."

"Are you sure that's a smart idea?" Walt asked. "Leaving him alone with her?"

"Oh for goodness' sake, Walt. I'm not going to do anything to her."

"She looks like she's really out of it too, dude. I'm sure she'll have woken up by the time the meeting is over."

Walt nodded, shooting a glance at Ben. It had been seven years, and he still wasn't entirely sure he trusted the man. "All right. Mind if I take a few helpers?"

"Nope. Do what you gotta do." Walt rushed off, and Hurley smiled at Ben. "Take care of her, okay?"

"You can count on it, Hugo."

Hugo rushed off too, following in Walt's footsteps. The door slammed behind him, leaving Ben alone to look after the young lady.

He looked her over. She had to be in her late twenties, at the oldest early thirties, with long, dark brown hair, and a cut on her forehead. Her clothing was casual, but he noticed with surprise that the bottoms of her shoes looked as though they'd never even touched the ground. He found it a puzzling discrepancy, but thought nothing more of it. A look at her hands confirmed she wore no rings, which meant she was unattached. He settled in, waiting for her to wake up.

 **XNCISX**

The first thing she realized was that she ached all over. Her head hurt, her ribs felt bruised at least, and she felt as though she had been put through a washing machine. She sighed, grunting in pain as she shifted, her eyes still closed against the bright light. Even her legs hurt, and-

Her eyes flew open, and she blinked, her eyes wide with panic. The last thing she remembered was the plane going down, and a hand clutching hers. She was alone now.

 _Was she dead?_

She looked around, wildly, only to find that she was in a house of some kind, with sunshine pouring through the windows and a fresh breeze fluttering the curtains. That wasn't what had caught her attention though. She looked down her body, raising her head so she could be sure she wasn't in pieces, or feeling the phantom pain of a removed limb. Her eyes widened with shock. _She had to be dead. Or grievously injured; hallucinating even._ Because as she watched, as she felt the aching in her legs, she found, as she watched, that she could wiggle her toes.

"Impossible," she said softly.

"Hello."

She sat up so suddenly, that she clutched her head, feeling giddy and sick. When the spots in her vision cleared, she found a man standing in the doorway to what looked like a kitchen. "Am I dead?" she asked.

He blinked, and then smiled to himself. "No, you aren't dead." He was short, his hair standing on end like he'd been electrocuted, and his bulging eyes were a vivid shade of blue behind circular glasses. He must've seen the panic in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I have to be dead," she told him, a wry smile on her face, as she wiggled a toe again. It wasn't possible.

"And why do you say that?"

"Because…" She found her brain to be rusty, most likely thanks to the crash. "What's your name?"

"My name is Benjamin Linus. You've caused quite a stir, young lady. My associate found you in the middle of the jungle, all alone."

She clutched at her head again, before staring at him. After a moment, she found the words. "Was there anything nearby, sir?"

"No, he said he found just you, brought you straight here. Have you lost something?" He noticed then that she kept looking at her legs. "Are you hurt?"

"No. At least I don't think so." She looked a trifle sick, so he held out a hand.

"Do you need help standing?"

"You don't understand. I can't walk."

"Really?" he asked, surprised. "Are your legs injured?"

"Yes," she said, biting her lip, before looking up at him with clear eyes that betrayed how truly frightened she was. "My name is Delilah Fielding. US Department of Defense. And my legs _are_ injured… I was paralyzed from the waist down three years ago."

He blinked, and then sat down next to her on the sofa, looking her over. He removed his glasses with a sigh. "The damn island has done it again."

"Again?" she asked.

He looked down at her, and saw how pale she was. "Are you feeling quite all right, Miss Fielding?"

"Sure… I've got a whopper of a headache though."

"Who else was on the plane with you?"

Her eyes went wide. "My team!" She tried to stand, only for her to pitch forward. Ben barely caught her in time, as she fainted, overwhelmed.

And where _was_ the rest of her team exactly?


	2. Chapter 2

They'd been laughing, sitting next to each other, and planning their next vacation.

Tim remembered that much.

Their case had ended with them in Australia, and they had begun the first leg of a grueling flight back to DC. They had slept briefly, her head pillowed on his shoulder, but had woken up, wired. And so she'd been teasing him, and he'd teased her back; he knew how badly he loved her, but every time he looked at her, he found himself realizing again and again how lucky he was.

 _"Tim, I'm serious. I'm not doing Hawaii again."_

 _"What about Paris?" he asked._

 _She made a face. "That's so… touristy. And cliché."_

 _"When we get back, we could talk Ducky into showing us around Scotland?" he offered._

 _She smiled, but rolled her eyes. "Are you suggesting that we take a vacation with a chaperone?"_

 _"Well, Miss Fielding, I don't want you taking advantage of me."_

 _"Oh, so now it's_ my _fault that we didn't get any sleep last night?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _She flicked the end of his nose. "Think again, Tim." She was laughing, and he found himself lost in thought. She stared, noticing that his smile had faded away. "What's wrong?"_

 _"You're beautiful, Dee."_

 _She shook her head, but leaned over, pulling him into a kiss. "Not too bad yourself, Tim."_

 _"Don't make me come back there!" Nick yelled, and they pulled apart, startled._

 _"To be continued?" she asked, a mischievous smile on her face._

 _"Count on it," he breathed._

 _And then as the first bout of turbulence had rocked the plane, their faces, still too close, smacked into each other. Both ended up clutching their foreheads, laughing. "I know I've said you had a thick head, but that_ hurt _!" she complained, giggling._

 _He kissed her on the forehead, quickly, so that their heads wouldn't hit each other again, and then asked, "Better?"_

 _She moved her hands away, and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Yes," she said simply. And somehow he figured she wasn't just talking about their bruised foreheads. He smiled, and then frowned as the plane shook again. She grabbed his hand, almost by reflex, and he looked over, looking into her deep eyes, reminded again that he loved her so goddamn much._

 _"You know, it's highly improbable that we'll crash," she said conversationally, but he could hear the thread of tension in her words. He could tell she was scared, but she smiled. "Numbers don't lie, Tim."_

 _"I believe you." The shaking of the plane got worse, and he wanted to close his eyes, and plug his ears, so that he wouldn't hear the screeching of a failing engine, or see the smoke curling past their windows. "You okay?" he asked her._

 _"Don't let go of me," she managed through clenched teeth._

 _"I won't, Dee. I've got you."_

 _At least if they died, they would be together, and the whole world was glowing white around them, and it was blinding, he had to shut his eyes, and all he knew was that he still had Delilah's hand in his, squeezing so tightly that neither was letting go anytime soon._

Reluctantly, his eyes cracked open, the world spinning around him. He didn't have his bearings but… he was staring up at an endless blue sky, wisps of cloud floating above his dazed head. Was he dead? No, he could feel his heart beating. At the edges of his vision, he could see palm branches. _Heaven?_

His head was pounding, but as far as he could tell, nothing seemed to be broken, except his brain. There was a fresh breeze blowing over his face, which was nice, because he felt as though his head had been stuffed with cotton, and then microwaved. It smelled of salt, which meant land of some kind, unless they'd crashed in the ocean… his heart clenched in horror at the thought, feeling nauseous at the very thought of being on a life raft, being tossed by waves, and dying of dehydration, but the ground was reassuringly solid beneath him. He could hear voices nearby, but he couldn't pick out-

He sat bolt upright, clutching his head. "Delilah," he croaked, finding that his voice still worked. It was hoarse, as though he'd been screaming. He looked around, and tried to scramble to his feet, only for his head to spin even more. He collapsed back to his knees, clutching his head.

"Tim, hey, hey, Tim." He looked up, only to find himself staring into startlingly blue eyes the colour of the endless sky above them. It took his poor brain a few seconds to place them. _Gibbs._ There was a bleeding cut along Gibbs' jawline, but other than that, he was alive and whole. If he was fine, then Delilah had to be too. "Easy, Tim. Sit down."

"Delilah," he said, the only word his battered brain could manage.

"Tim, ya gotta relax-,"

"Delilah," he insisted.

Gibbs' face changed, subtle enough, but it made McGee's heart feel as though it was being squeezed in a fist. "Is she-," he choked on the words, remembering another night, where he'd clawed through rubble, burning his hands, and breaking his fingernails, trying to find her, coughing in the smoke, breathing in hot ash that he hoped wasn't somebody, and prayed wasn't her.

"Tim…" he hesitated, his hands on Tim's shoulders, "Tim ya gotta relax-,"

"Where is she, Gibbs? Where's Delilah?"

Gibbs seemed to deflate at that, looking down at the ground. If Tim didn't know him better, he'd think that Gibbs was ashamed. "We don't know."

"What do you mean you _don't know_?" He was on his feet, head reeling, but he was standing. The breeze coming off the sea was stronger, and he looked for the word, before finding it. _Island. Had to be._ They'd been in the middle of the Pacific ocean. The plane had crashed. So much for Delilah's stats. At the thought of Delilah, his heart stopped for a second, before resuming its miserable beat. There was cracked concrete, only a few feet away, and there, in front of him was the plane. "Delilah!" he yelled.

"Tim, your head-," Gibbs started, a hand on his shoulder. Tim threw him off, staggering towards the plane.

"Delilah. Dee! Delilah! DELILAH!" He'd managed to climb back into the plane, and was rushing to where they'd been sitting, knowing that he was going to find her body, he was going to relive the moment he found her body for the rest of his life, and god how could he have let this happen?

But he got to their seats in the back of the plane, and froze. Their things were scattered everywhere, and the plane, emptied of people, had a menacing aura about it. It was like a ghost ship, and it reminded Tim uncomfortably that wherever they were, being alive did not guarantee them being safe.

His breath went out of him, along with his remaining strength. He had managed to get into the plane, his adrenaline propelling him forward. He fell to his knees in front of their seats. She was gone. Her wheelchair was still there, accusingly empty, and seeing it without her in it broke him. "Dee…" he managed. He stood. "Where are you? _DEE_!"

"She's not here, Tim."

He looked over his shoulder to find Gibbs standing there, blurred through the tears in Tim's eyes.

"Dee." It was all he could manage to say, before breaking down, his whole body heaving with sobs.

The empty wheelchair-

 _The smoking rubble beneath his hands._

Her bag had spilled across the floor-

 _He knew in his heart that she wasn't dead, but his gut wasn't agreeing with his heart this time, and if she wasn't already dead, she would be soon._

Over the sound of the sobs that racked his body, his hands shaking as he reached for his pocket, he could hear voices behind him-

 _He was choking, he couldn't breathe properly, and he could hear the moans of the injured and dying, but his only thought was his girlfriend. It was his fault. He should've warned them. Or at least been with her._

His hand found his only constant; it was still in his pocket, he hadn't lost it. Somehow the notion comforted and grounded him briefly, as his breath came in gasps, because what if she was dead, she couldn't be dead-

 _And at last he'd seen the hand, startlingly white among the blackened rubble, and he'd_ known. _He had her memorized. He nearly sobbed with relief, though he was crawling on his knees, short of breath, he had found her, and he made his way over to her, and her eyes flickered open briefly. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, and cry. He loved her. Did she know? He squeezed her hand. At least if she died, they'd be together. Like they should've been from the beginning._

He'd been holding her hand when they'd crashed. But the plane was in one piece… so where was she? "Boss," he managed. "Where is she?"

"She was gone when we woke up. Tim… her wheelchair is here. It's not like she woke up; wandered off, disoriented. C'mon, sit rep. Outside."

He tried to pull himself back together, rubbing the tears from his face, and that made the bruise on his forehead sting. There was a Delilah-shaped bruise on his heart. But his heart was telling him: she wasn't dead. He stood, slowly, and folded up her wheelchair, lifting it, planning to carry it.

"Tim, ya shouldn't be-,"

Tim walked past him, carrying the wheelchair, even though he was heartsick and starved, still seeing spots at the edge of his vision. His silence spoke volumes, and carried a strange eloquence that his alter ego could only dream of. There was only one thing on his mind: Delilah.

 **XNCISX**

The rest of the team had heard Tim's outburst, and were avoiding making eye contact with him. Ellie was sitting next to him, rubbing his back. "I'm sure she's fine. Maybe someone found her… and took her somewhere safe."

"Why leave the rest of us then?" Nick asked. "Are we not the chosen ones?"

Tim shot him a potent glare of the Leroy Jethro Gibbs variety, and Nick shut up.

"It really is nice here… nicer vacation than I could afford on my salary," Quinn commented.

"It has a certain charm," Ellie agreed. When Gibbs gave her a look, she paused. "What? I'm not saying I'd live her, but as far as places to land go, we're pretty lucky."

"Y'know of all the things I was planning on adding to my bucket list, crashing the SECNAV's plane wasn't on there," Alex continued.

"Really? It was on mine," Nick said, grinning.

"Is everyone okay?" Gibbs asked, looking around. _Okay_ was maybe a bit too strong a word. McGee's eyes were red from his breakdown, and it had left an awkward air above the ragtag group. The members of the group had various minor injuries, but overall were okay.

"We're fine," Quinn responded. "A little battered, bruised. Another day on the job, huh Gibbs?"

"Sorry, Agent Quinn. Didn't plan this detour. How's the pilot?" he asked Nick, who was sitting closest to the pilot.

"He's still unconscious. Got a good bump on the forehead, but at least he didn't crash."

"Gonna be a hell of a shock when he wakes up," Gibbs replied. "Probably a mechanical failure. Nothing that can't be fixed."

"Oh, do we have spare plane parts now? Or are we just gonna stop by the island hardware store and pick them up?" Alex asked. "And even if we did that, we can't leave. There's a team member unaccounted for!"

"Quinn, not helping," Ellie warned, shooting a sideways look at McGee. But, after inquiring about the wellbeing of his colleagues, he'd become lost in thought, staring at the wheelchair like it held answers he needed. "She's not dead, Tim."

"I know," the voice was joyless, and it sounded nothing like Tim. "But she _is_ gone."

"You just attract trouble, don't you Gibbs?" Nick asked, grinning sarcastically.

"I clearly do, Torres, since ya joined my team."

"I always love a bit of trouble, Gibbs."

"Sitting around is pointless," Tim muttered. "We have to go and search-,"

"Tim, we need to rest," Gibbs responded firmly. "Not an option."

"I'll search by myself if I have to," he threatened.

"You're not thinking straight!"

"Yeah, and my girlfriend is missing, Gibbs! She could be badly hurt or dead! I already went through that once. I can't do it again."

"Tim, the best thing ya can do for her right now is rest. And get your head screwed on straight!"

"None of the rest of you seem remotely concerned that one of our team members is missing!"

"Tim, stop lettin' your heart get in the way of your brain! We need to rest, and then we need to figure out a way to get off this island. Stumbling around in the jungle won't help, Tim."

Tim was glaring at Gibbs, and was about to object, but Ellie's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Tim," she said quietly. "Please."

"Ellie, don't-," she tugged him to his feet, and pulled him underneath one of the swaying palm trees.

"Timothy Farragut McGee, don't you dare tell me that I don't know what you're going through!"

He blinked. "What?"

"Hotel explosion in Dubai. I thought Jake was dead. And you stayed with me, and helped me, and now I'm doing the same for you. Don't push me away."

"Ellie, I…. she told me not to let go of her," he said, his knees slowly giving out, leaving him to sit down beneath the palm tree, Ellie beside him. "And I let go."

"It's not your fault, Tim."

"It is. She could be hurt, lost somewhere, even dead… and I'm here. I shouldn't have, but I let her go."


End file.
